He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity.
His eyes traced the contours of her agitation. The silence between them stretched, thin and brittle.
"How long do you intend to stare at me like that?" she snapped.
Her voice trembled with a mixture of defiance and exhaustion. "Are you ever going to answer?"
With a weary sigh, he leaned back into the velvet shadows of the chair. He draped an arm over his eyes as if to shield himself from the world.
"Love or hate," he murmured, the words heavy with contemplation.
"You're quite right—I don't love you. But to hate you? I don't believe I could ever find it in me to do that."
A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips—a sound like breaking glass.
"You have every reason to hate me. You should, darling."
At the mention of the endearment, he shifted his arm, peering at her with an unreadable expression.
"'Darling'? It seems that confrontation with that woman has truly rattled your senses."
